


Stormwind Academy: Year One

by AmbulanceDriver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 00:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19878853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmbulanceDriver/pseuds/AmbulanceDriver
Summary: Oliver Ward has been on his own for almost two years. His family disappeared on him when he was 14 years old, leaving him to fend for himself on the streets. But a chance encounter with a mysterious woman named Rose will soon change all that. Now, Oliver finds his eyes opened to a whole new world of magic, wonder, and adventure. Welcome to Stormwind Academy.





	Stormwind Academy: Year One

**Author's Note:**

> This is an original work set in the present Harry Potter universe. I don't own the universe or anything of the canon actors that are going to be used/mentioned. All the main characters are original creations and although I love Harry Potter universe, I am taking some artistic liberties for own work of fiction. If you are a huge fan of Pottermore, you may want to ignore this. There will be some fairly graphic m/m scenes happening eventually. I'll try and put a warning up for that chapter. Otherwise, enjoy!

Oliver Ward hated the rain. It had been what seemed like non-stop rain for the past three weeks and when they did get a break from the rain, they were assaulted with a wave of heat that made the air muggy and made to feel as thick as soup. Oliver was not looking forward to the rest of the summer and it was only June. Thunder cracked overhead, followed by a flash of lightning in the distance. 

Oliver winced, despite being sixteen years old, lightning still frightened him. If he had an actual father and a real place to call home, he was pretty sure such behavior would have been frowned on. Being afraid of an aspect of nature that you had no control over wasn’t exactly what one would call a very manly trait.

It always happened, no matter how much Oliver tried to avoid it. Eventually, someone would ask him where his parents were. They would ask him, most of the time with pity in their eyes, about what brought him to such a state. The first few times, Oliver made up some wild story which only deepened the pitiful look that they gave him. After that, he ended up telling them the truth, though he left out as many details as possible. Despite his circumstances, relying solely on the charity of strangers was not something that Oliver intended to do. 

He wished that the circumstances surrounding his place living on the streets could have at least been dramatic or maybe even filled with some sort of horrible tragedy. But no such luck. Oliver had come home from school one day to find that his parents had simply gone. Oliver thought that it might have something to do with him, he always knew that he was a weird child, although her certainly didn’t think that he was weird enough to drive off his entire family. 

He called, he texted, he tried to get in touch with them in every way known to man but they never responded. Eventually, the house was repossessed and he ended up in social services for a time. 

However that didn’t last long. Oliver had seen the foster system, he knew what it was like and he vowed that he would never go there so that he could be passed around like a piece of meat. So, two years ago, he packed up all that he could carry and struck out on his own. It didn’t take him long to realize that life was a lot harsher than he had realized. It took a lot of getting used too; the fact that he didn’t always know where his next meal was coming from. The fact that he didn’t always have a bed to sleep in or even a place to sleep. But this was his life now, no use in complaining or feeling sorry for himself.

He glanced over and caught his reflection in the surface of the library windows. Oliver Ward knew that he was pretty average looking. He stood at 5’9, with shaggy brown hair, and blue eyes. He had a wiry and lithe build, although that was due more to the fact that he was constantly moving than any sort of work out routine. Living on the streets didn’t exactly leave time for a regular gym routine or access to muscle building food.

He sighed heavily and settled back against the stonewall of the downtown town library. Luckily, the old brick building had huge arches built into it, providing a convenient place for him to get out of the rain. He had even managed to sleep there one or twice, although usually the cops chased off anyone after midnight. Oliver reached into his backpack and rummaged around a little, looking for half of the sandwich that he managed to save from the soup kitchen from yesterday.

The staff at St. Mary’s The Holy Mother were incredibly nice to him, although he suspected that that was just because they felt sorry for the poor homeless kid with the scar on his face from the cleft-lip repair that he had done on him as a baby. The faint scars were still visible, something that he was sure everyone zeroed right in on. Or maybe they actually were thankful for all the help that he did provide to the kitchen; cleaning up after meals, mopping the floor, even serving food on occasion. Sister Kathrine always said she wished there was a way to pay him for his work.

He usually bounced from shelter to shelter, not spending too long in one. The more time you spend around the shelters the closer you become to the people and that always ended up biting you in the ass at some point. The staff at the Emergency Youth Services Shelter were like; always asking if there was anything more they could do or if he needed extra blankets or toiletries. They were really nice people actually a lot nicer than some of the jerk kids at the shelter. 

Personally, Oliver tried to keep as sunny a deposition as possible, people tended to like you better if you weren’t an insufferable ass. And given how much he relied on the kindness of strangers, he did all that he could to make sure that he came across as grateful as possible. Which he was of course, to a certain degree. He was still human and occasionally got pissed off at the hand he was dealt in life. 

Rain had started to fall lightly on the streets, making a soft pattering sound. It would have been downright peaceful had it not been for the crash of thunder and crackling burst of lightning that shot through the sky seconds later. He looked down at the cracked face of his wrist watch, probably the only thing that he got of value from his parents. The shelter would open in a half-hour, which would force him to make the fifteen minute walk south if he wanted to get there to help the sisters with anything.

He made sure that his backpack was settled on his shoulders and then pulled up his head, shielding his head from the rain. After the last crack of thunder, Oliver bolted out into the rain. For the next fifteen minutes he dodged between awnings and overhangs, trying to stay as dry as he could given the increasing downpour. 

The soup kitchen was housed in an old grocery store. The front windows had been painted over with murals of several religious scenes. Oliver didn’t pay much attention to that sort of thing. He had given up the idea of trying to figure out if there was a higher power a long time ago. He didn’t have the luxury of pondering such exastentional things while he was worried about where he was going to eat the next day. 

He arrived just as Sister Jean was opening the door. The nun was plump with short greying hair and a wrinkled face. Her blue eyes had lost some of their brightness but her smile more than made up for it. She had ditched the traditional habit and robes and wore a modest brown dress with a white shirt that covered her arms. 

“Good afternoon Oliver,” she replied as he jogged up to her. “Shame about the weather, I thought we could finally have an end to all this rain.”

“You and me both,” Oliver said with a sigh. “Do you need help with anything?”

“I believe Brother Mitchell could use some assistance in the kitchen if you don’t mind,” Sister Jean responded. She propped the door open and took a deep breath as a smile settled on her face. “I do hate the rain but it does smell lovely.”

“You’re right about that,” Oliver answered as he slipped inside.

Sister Jean said nothing more as she went about readying the front of the shetler for the dinner rush. Oliver maneuvered his way around the long rows of tables and chairs before he pushed his way into the kitchen where Brother Mitchell was hard at work, along with a few other brothers and sisters. Though Sister Jean seemed like the picture perfect of a nun, Brother Mitchell looked to be the last person that would be a man of the cloth.

He was tall, standing at 6’5 with a balding head and build that suggested more of a linebacker than a man of God. Tattoos snaked up and down his arms, neck, and up onto the back of his skull. He had a rough, deep voice, though Oliver had seldom heard the other man raise his voice in anger.

“Really coming down out there isn’t it,” Mitchell said. He turned towards Oliver and gave him a wide grin. “Well, don’t just stand there dripping water all over the floor. Go hang up your coat and then get in here.”

Oliver nodded and took off towards the small locker room that the shelter maintained. He took off his backpack and then grabbed the padlock from the middle pocket. After selecting a locker, Oliver stuffed his backpack inside and locked away his meager possessions. He made the mistake of not locking everything up once, it did not end well. He spent the better part of a week getting all his supplies back in order. 

Before he even turned around, he felt it. It was a presence, a heavy feeling that seemed to press in on him from all sides. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, causing him to look nervously around the room. He swore he saw a shadow move, causing the breath to freeze in his chest. Oliver felt his pulse quicken, his palms sweat, and his mouth go dry. He squeezed his eyes shut, reminding himself that this was only his overactive imagination.

These feelings started happening shortly after Oliver turned ten, though his parents dismissed it as having an overactive imagination. Whenever Oliver would bring the matter up, they would both just roll their eyes. He could remember his father saying ‘stop being so weird Oliver’ on more than one occasion.

Luckily, this oppressive feeling usually didn’t last, although it had become more frequent in the past months. Oliver continued taking deep, measured breaths. Eventually, the feeling ebbed away, allowing Oliver to regain his self control. Straightening his shoulders, Oliver headed out of the locker room and into the kitchen. Already, there were several people inside standing in line. Oliver went to the serving line after taking a hair net from Brother Mitchell. 

The hall began to fill up faster and faster, partially driven by the now pouring rain outside. Oliver served everyone that came through the line. By now, he knew most of the people by face, if not name. They barely looked him in the eyes and muttered their thanks. Oliver didn’t blame them, he knew from experience how hard it was to bring yourself to look someone in the eyes when you looked and felt less than human. 

Oliver tried to give everyone that he saw a warm smile to go along with the warm meal. He was able to get a few of them to smile back, though most ignored him. After he finished serving the food, Oliver made his way out to the seating area with his own tray and dropped into a chair near the large rain splattered window.

“Rather lovely weather, isn’t?” 

The women that had spoken had an accent to her voice. Oliver thought that she sounded British or maybe Austrailian, he couldn’t be sure. She wore a wide brimmed hat that looked like something that you might see from a witch costume on Halloween. Her face was streaked with dirt and her hair, where it poked out from underneath the hat, looked dark blonde and greasy. Her eyes were pale, though they once looked like they had been a very alluring shade of green. 

“Um, I suppose it could be worse,” Oliver responded warily.

“This place reminds me a lot of home.” 

Oliver arched an eyebrow at her. “Does it rain like cats and dogs where you’re from?”

“Oh most of the time yes,” she answered. “I’m from the United Kingdom, it rains an awful lot there.”

“I haven’t seen you before,” Oliver said. He took a drink of water before turning to her and offering her his hand. “I’m Oliver.”

She took and shook, surprising Oliver with the strength of her handshake. “It is a pleasure to meet you young man my name is Rose Haddock.”

“Are you new to the city?” Oliver said turning back to his food.

“Oh I tend to bop around,” Rose replied. 

She smiled at him and Oliver felt instantly at ease. She had this sort of grandmother like quality that made Oliver want to spill his entire life story to her, although he refrained from doing so. She reached out and patted him lovingly on the arm.

“I won’t ask you your story,” Rose said. She took a drink of water before continuing. “I often find it very irritating that everyone assumes that you want to share what happened to you. Honestly, it’s none of their business. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Oliver found himself nodding enthusiastically before he even really knew what it was that he was doing. “Yeah, I totally agree.”

“Although one wouldn’t blame anyone from being curious about what landed a nice young man like you in your present situation.”

“Things I can’t control,” Oliver answered with a shrug of his shoulders. It was strange, when she asked about it, he didn’t feel instantly defensive. “But it’s okay, can’t get pissed off at the hand you were dealt in life.”

“That is a very adult thing to say young man,” Rose replied. She paused for a moment. “Are your parents here?”

Olvier shook his head. “I honestly don’t know where they are.”

This seemed to catch the older woman off guard, causing her to arch an eyebrow in response. Oliver was used to a reaction like this. Usually, what followed was something along the lines of ‘you poor dear’ or ‘that’s just awful.’

“They left me,” Oliver explained. He took tore off a bit of bread before popping it into his mouth. “No note, no explanation… just left me. And before you ask, I ran away from the foster system. I don’t need to be passed around like some second hand shirt.”

“I don’t blame you one bit,” Rose said. “I’ve heard horror stories about the Foster system both here and in my home country. You’re probably better off out on your own.”

Oliver chuckled. “You might be the first adult that I’ve ever heard say that.”

“Why do you suppose that is?” 

“Because I’m sixteen and most assume that I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself on my own.”

Rose sat back in her chair for a moment before leaning towards him and tapping him on the head. “Or they don’t know that you’re a survivor Oliver. It takes an awful cunning and determined young man to stay alive on the streets these days.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said. “But I thought that you wouldn’t ask for my story?”

“I didn’t,” Rose said with a smile. “But you seemed happy enough to volunteer the information anyway.”

Oliver opened his mouth to protest and then realized that she was right. He couldn’t ever really remember volunteering information like that, though he supposed he had at some point. The fact that she was easily able to get him to talk didn’t sit well with him; it was a weakness that one could easily exploit on the streets. But there was an air about her, an aura that seemed to radiate a sense of peace and safety.

Oliver shook his head, banishing those thoughts. As nice as Rose appeared to be, she wasn’t to be trusted. He learned a long time ago that trusting anyone was a bad idea. Looking out for yourself was the only way to survive. Though, that didn’t mean that he had to be a complete asshole to the lady.

“I suppose you’re right,” Oliver said. “Although maybe because you have a way of making people feel… at ease. I bet that comes in handy for all kinds of things.”

“If you’re referring to illegal things than I am sure that I don’t have any idea of what you’re talking about,” Rose said. “Must be my gentle nature that people find so appealing.”

“Yeah,” Oliver said nodding slowly. “I’m sure that’s exactly what it is.”

Rose just shrugged the comment away and went back to eating her soup. “You should really learn to see the good instead of the bad in everyone Oliver, it would serve you well in your life.”

“Trusting people on the street can be dangerous,” Oliver responded. “Everyone’s out for themselves, I would have thought that you would have known that.”

Rose studied him for a few moments. Finally she gave him a thin smile. “And you are you always out for yourself? If you were I doubt that you would show up here and give the brothers and sisters a hand.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes at Rose. “How do you know that I do that?”

“One can learn a lot by being observant,” Rose replied with a shrug. 

“How do you know that I don’t steal food for myself?” Oliver asked again. “I could totally do that.”

Rose chuckled a little. “You could but you don’t.”

Oliver found himself becoming angrier the more that he talked to Rose. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks and had to fight to keep from letting that anger take over. A looked over at Rose, who had a small but noticeable smile on her face.

“You’re a good man Oliver,” Rose said as she stood up. “I don’t doubt for a moment that if you did steal some food, you’d give it those that are worse off than you. Your survival instincts serve you well but just don’t let them override your faith in your fellow man.”

She grabbed her tray and walked off, leaving Oliver sitting there, still fuming over her character assessment of him. Oliver shook his head as he watched her walk away. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know what he had been through or what he had done to survive on his own for the past two years. He sighed heavily and pushed his tray away, suddenly not hungry anymore. Oliver stood up and headed over to return his tray. Moments later, bag over his shoulder, Oliver trudged out into the pouring rain.


End file.
